


The Curse of Truthfulness

by persephoneregina



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Imperial, Best Friends, Childhood Memories, Falling In Love, Feels, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nostalgia, Pining, Prince Youngjo, Romance, Softness, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27375292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephoneregina/pseuds/persephoneregina
Summary: To love means to be shackled by the curse of truthfulness, since love itself, a feeling that receives its life in the darkness and intimacy of one’s soul, demands to be brought into the light, to be revealed and disclosed, in order to properly manifest itself into existence. Oddly enough, the easy part about love is loving. To act accordingly is where the true test of spirit lies.Youngjo and Geonhak are aware that they have failed to do so way too many times in the past, scared about a ridiculously long list of possible issues.It was always either the wrong time or the wrong place, actions felt too grand and words too cliché, until, eventually, neither of them ever said or did anything.And now that they cannot escape each other, now that the both of them have to call themselves defeated by a love so overpowering, unrelenting and uncontrollable, all that’s left for them to do is to take that final leap into the illusory darkness of the unknown and unveil their feelings, with the fearlessness that takes over the hearts of those who have nothing left to lose.
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Kim Youngjo | Ravn
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	The Curse of Truthfulness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yoru_Ame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoru_Ame/gifts).



> Hello everyone!  
> I'm back with a delightful work for my dearest [Noe](https://twitter.com/Isilme_0) who wished for an historical YoungDo AU.  
> I hope to have lived up to the expectations, because I am still slowly getting accustomed to the genre, but I can tell that it was an absolute honor and privilege to work on this story and that I have poured all of my love in it.  
> If you enjoy the story, I would be delighted to read your comments about it <3 and if you wish to talk to me or just keep up with my next ideas and stories, you can follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/persefoneregina)!
> 
> Sending lots of love to you all and, as always, have a pleasant read!

# The Curse of Truthfulness

The early morning air is humid and heavy in the Prince’s bedroom, saturating every single corner with the pleasant perfume of petrichor and wet apricot leaves and leaving the thinnest linen of dew on the frame of his window and on the finely lacquered furniture.

His breathing is still calm and regular, but the opaque white light of the rainy morning makes his eyelids flutter ever so slightly, like butterfly wings, until he cannot ignore it anymore.

Indeed, it is up to his servants to wake him up, but the Prince’s sleep has always been on the lighter side, so the times when he gets up way before their arrival are way more than the ones when he’s actually awoken by them. Anyway, he minds never getting ready before they come to his room. It’s something that costs him a great deal of effort, or so it did when he was younger, but now he has gotten accustomed to it. His father, the Emperor, scolded him very severely whenever he complained about it: “It does not matter how capable you are of doing things on your own. What matters is that, by allowing the servitude to abide by their duties and to perform their tasks, you are acknowledging their worth and their role at the Palace. Whenever you fail to do this, you are inherently insulting the true beating heart of the palace and, with it, the entirety of the Imperial society. This cannot be, Youngjo. As a future Emperor, you have to know your place and your role to grant all of your people the respect of their own.”

Those words have been engraved in Youngjo’s mind from the very day his father told him, and never left him since. That was the day when Youngjo understood, clearer than ever before, that he would have never been allowed a normal life, that all of his actions, thoughts, words and decisions did not depend on his desires or will. Everything had to be disciplined by the one golden rule, according to which he was supposed to become the warden of centuries-old traditions of a divinely established order, which he had to defend and to serve with utmost obedience, reverence and respect. 

Growing up in such a severe environment, for as privileged and wealthy, has inherently resulted in Youngjo finding himself enveloped by a thick, insurmountable wall of unattainability and loneliness around him. Youngjo has been forced, since a very young age, to spectate the world from a distance, to learn his manners, to give up his true nature, to hide his real self, in order to live like one of the rare, precious animals of the palace: trapped in a luxurious cage, schooled to execute his little spectacle when required, locked in a painful isolation made of duty and responsibility, admired and envied by most, but loved and understood by none.

None, except for that single, special person that Youngjo holds very close to his heart: Geonhak, the son of his preceptor. Since the two of them only had two years of difference and, moreover, considering that the Emperor didn’t have any other sons, Geonhak and Youngjo had been allowed to spend time together, becoming soon enough very close since their very first encounters, back when they were just children.

When Youngjo thinks about those days, he cannot help but smile. He very often indulges in the memories of those simpler times, when the weight of the Imperial onuses did not burden his heart, like a shroud of pain, and when their were able to spend entire days together, playing in the gardens, climbing on the trees to steal the ripest fruits, basking in the warm sunlight, picking flowers and challenging each other at who would have found the most beautiful one. Youngjo has always been a very competitive and prideful person, but for some reason, no matter what game they played, he would always let Geonhak win. Geonhak was a very shy child, with dreamy eyes and a chubby face that would light up every time he smiled. Many things have irredeemably changed, since their childhood days, but his dreamy eyes and luminous smile have stayed the same, and that is something for which Youngjo surprises himself being thankful for way more than he is willing to admit.

While he is leisurely immersed in such delightful memories, he hears a faint knocking on the frame of his bedroom door, barely audible, yet enough to break the bubble of sweet daydreaming in which Youngjo was deeply lost.

“Hyung?” A deep, muted voice whispers. “Hyung, are you awake?”

“Geonhak, what are you doing here? You know you cannot come to my room like this. I can’t let you in.” Youngjo answers, from the opposite side of the door.

“Why, are you still en déshabillé?” His friend teases, under his breath. “Forget it, I don’t want to know. Anyway, I came to tell you that my father is ill, so no lessons for us today.”

“Oh no, please let him have my best wishes for a prompt recovery. Should I send the doctor to see him?” Youngjo rushedly murmurs, as he curls down, back pressed against the door, to sit on the floor.

“I believe the Emperor has already taken care of this, in spite of me insisting it was not the case. It’s probably nothing serious, but he didn’t want to expose you to the chance of catching a fever yourself. He will be back to tormenting us with his lessons very soon, don’t worry.”

“Don’t speak like this about your father. He is an exceptional teacher, and you will thank him for being so severe when your time will come to become a preceptor.” Youngjo lovingly scolds him, and he has to make a serious effort to push to the back of his mind the image of Geonhak, surrounded by a cheerful swarm of children that fall completely silent as soon as he begins with his lesson.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Anyway, do you want to go horseback riding today? I can ask the grooms to saddle your horse while you get ready.” There is a light wood creaking sound, meaning that probably Geonhak is not leaning against the door frame anymore.  
  


“Isn’t it raining?” Youngjo whines. He would very much rather stay inside, spending the day with Geonhak playing _yutnori_ or _go_ , talking about whatever comes to mind, instead of going for a horseback ride. 

“So what? When did you become such a killjoy?” Geonhak retaliates with a soft giggle, one of those, Youngjo is sure, which usually lifts up his cheeks so high that a few, small wrinkles form around his eyes and turn them into dark, joyful crescents.

“Me? A killjoy?” He asks, astonished and entertained at the same time by his friend’s boldness.

“That, or you’re just getting old and boring like one of your father’s council fuddy duddies.”

“Hey! Don’t you dare!” Youngjo says, raising his voice for the first time since the beginning of their conversation and slamming his bedroom door open to playfully chase after Geonhak and make him sorely regret his words.

All of a sudden, there is not a care in his mind anymore about what anyone could think at the sight of the crown prince running through the corridors, only dressed in his disheveled night robe, screaming and laughing and stomping, like a savage, as he tries to catch the hems of the future Imperial preceptor’s hanbok. Geonhak runs fast, but Youngjo sprints right at his back, leaving at their passage only an echo of loud giggles, frantic footsteps and hushed panting, and they both eventually end up falling on the floor when Youngjo takes an exceptionally long leap and grabs Geonhak by the waist, tightening his arms around his firm body and pouncing on him with all of his weight. In that moment their roles, the etiquette, the rules don't matter anymore: it's just the two of them, playing fight and tickling each other until they can't breathe anymore and their tummies hurt from laughing, like when they were kids. 

“Truce! Truce!” Geonhak begs, as he throws his hands up in surrender, Youngjo still tackling him and pinning him down with his whole body. “Dictate your terms, oh merciful prince!”

“And you swear on your honor you will abide by them?” Youngjo asks, sitting on top of him, his hands sliding along Geonhak’s wide ribcage, ready to attack with more tickling at any time. “Then, you’re never going to call me a killjoy or a fuddy duddy ever again.”

“Seconded.” His friend answers with a smirk “Can I at least think that?”

“I guess I can’t prevent that, but you should be aware that I can, and will, strike back with all of my decades-long proficiency in tickle torture when you least expect it.” Youngjo says, a victorious smile embossed on his face as he stands up and lends him a helping hand to stand up. “Gosh, you’ve gotten heavy!”

“And you’ve never had to carry me bridal style!” Geonhak plays along, giving him a nudge in the waist and watching Youngjo gasp for air as he pretends to be out of breath.  
  
“Nor do I wish to do that any time soon, if I’m being honest!” Youngjo lies, bluntly. He wouldn’t mind carrying him bridal style any time, even if it means to spit a lung somewhere along the trail, but that is definitely a collateral detail he’s willing to overlook.

“ _Not any time soon_ implies you _still_ wish to do that, just in a future time further than the immediate one, though…” Geonhak points out, with a playful tone and a pat on his shoulder.

“Geonhak?”  
  
“Uh?”  
  
“Give me one more piece of a grammar lesson and I swear I will be riding you back instead of my horse’s.” He winks at him and walks back towards his room, Geonhak following a couple steps back.  
  
“You’re crazy…” Geonhak says, laughing and shaking his head. 

  
“Crazy, and in charge of the place, so be nice, won’t you?” Youngjo turns around and teasingly squeezes Geonhak’s face in his hands, making him scrunch his nose as he tries to wriggle out of his grasp. Though their skinship and closeness could appear unbecoming to some, it’s nothing unusual for them, just how they have always played together, and even though Geonhak is quite sure he has caught some kind of foxy glint in the prince’s eyes, he deliberately decides to pay it no mind and to ignore the unsolicited wave of heat he has just felt in his loins.

“Anyway, please wait for me at the stables. I won’t be long.” Youngjo eventually answers, standing up in his turn. “Tell them I wish to ride Nunji, if it is not too much trouble.”

“Will do! Don’t dress too fancy, it’s just me.” Geonhak says, as he leaves for the stables, his heavy steps echoing against the wooden floor, while Youngjo smiles. All in all, he never seems to be able to tell him no: even now, he has let him have his way, and for as much as he would like to convince himself otherwise, that he should be upset, Youngjo doesn’t regret it in the slightest. Making Geonhak happy makes him happy too, even more so now that they very seldom get the chance to spend a day together, without any institutional event, unforeseen happenstance or appointments of different kinds getting in their way. They have to treasure and cherish those exceptional moments, for things will never get easier for them in time, quite the contrary actually, as the both of them are constantly reminded of by the increasing pressure being put on their shoulders by their respective families as for their future. There is a sadness in the bitterly truthful though that, growing up, time is doomed to become a resource of which they will not be able to dispose at their pleasure, and yet such sadness, in their minds, is accompanied, at the same time, by a glimmer of hope and deep feeling of gratefulness for every single moment together that they are gifted with by life and fate.

* * *

  
  
  


By the time the two of them eventually manage to get out of the palace, the weather has gotten even worse than they could have foreseen: a gloomy, leaden sky, dotted with occasional flocks of sparrows, weighs down on their heads, threatening an incoming storm at any minute, while a thick mantle of silver fog blurs out the horizon and buffing the contours of the underlying landscape like a skillful brushwork from some excellent master painter.

The more they move ahead on the uncertain path, the more they can feel the horses’ hooves diggin in the muddy soil and uneasily slipping on the wet cobblestones with an unsteady pace, which makes the both of them quietly contemplate what a terrible idea was to go for a horse ride on such a terribly bad weather.

“So,” Geonhak says, after about half an hour, defeated “I think the time has come for me to admit that maybe, just _maybe_ , this was a mistake.”

“Really? You don’t say?” Youngjo sarcastically remarks, raising an eyebrow as he attempts to hold in the laughter that, inevitably, eventually slips from his lips.

“Listen, I just wanted to do something together for once!” 

“We do almost everything together!”

“No…” Geonhak replies, with a veil of sadness in his voice, caressing the prince’s profile with a longing gaze before letting his eyes drop low on the ground, disheartened “Not anymore…”

“Geonhak…” Youngjo tries to speak, but the words die down in his throat, like they knew they could never have been of any use.

He would like to dissuade him and convince him that things will get better, that it is just a matter of time, that they will not be parted from each other forever, that there will come a time when they will be able to be together again and no one will divide them, but words like the ones he wishes he could speak have a weight and a value and carry a form of sacrality within them that makes it impossible for him to say them out loud with a light heart.

Youngjo has never been the one to fall under the temptation of making promises he cannot keep, since he understands well the responsibilities and implications deriving from giving his word to anyone, even more so when it’s Geonhak, and nonetheless, just for this once, he wishes, like never before, to allow his heart the freedom it longs for and let it say the words he has been keeping for himself for the longest time.

  
_I won’t let anyone or anything divide us._

_I won’t allow that._

_I swear it to you, I will never leave your side, not now, not ever._

But words like those can’t be pronounced without the certainty of being capable to honour them with all of one’s will, abidance and devotion. Therefore, even though he desires more than anything to, one day, be in the position to make this kind of oaths to Geonhak, Youngjo has to bite his tongue and swallow his heartache, sealing his mouth in mournful silence.

A thicker fog than the material one falls between them, a fog of unspoken feelings and nostalgia, summoned by Geonhak’s words almost like a sad charm.

“Come,” Youngjo eventually says, breaking the silence and forcing a hint of a smile on his lips, as he pulls the reins to govern Nunji’s direction “Let’s get off from this path before one of our horses gets a sprain.”

“Where to?” Geonhak asks with furrowed brows, while trying to gently help his horse turn around and follow Youngjo’s sudden change of mind.

“Up to our hill, where else?” He answers, and the corners of his naturally beautiful, red lips unfurl in a brighter, more sincere smile, before turning around and changing path uphill, towards a soft hill covered by a thick mantle of grass freshly kissed by the morning rain.

“Last one there is a limp noodle!” Geonhak retaliates, with a challenging tone, as he finally moves out of that mire and swiftly trots ahead of Youngjo, giving him one last teasing wink before sprinting away. 

“Hey! You’re not fair!” Youngjo screams at the top of his lungs “You can’t throw down a challenge after you have already started it!”

“I’m not fair and you’re not fun!” Geonhak screams back, turning around just as much as needed to stick his tongue out at his friend, mockingly. “You have to learn to cheat your way through life sometimes, Youngjo! How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“I don’t like to win if I know I cheated! I like to win when I deserve it!” Youngjo whines, and yet leans down, his whole body adhering on Nunji’s back, while pulling the reins under his firm, knowing grip and nudging at his horse’s sides to spur on it to move faster after Geonhak.

“...That’s why you never win!” His friend playfully sentences, wrapping up his provocations with a loud laugh that echoes through the misty air, before running like the wind on the back of his horse and becoming just a shadow in the distance.

Of course, Geonhak knows that Youngjo doesn’t lack the capacities or the skills to win all of the challenges he throws down at him, he never did, but nonetheless Youngjo has always had the habit to be the best and most tenacious competition possible to him, except holding himself back at the very last minute as an act of consideracy towards him and letting him have the victory. At first, when he noticed this constant pattern, Geonhak didn’t like it at all. Even as a child, he used to be very proud and stern, so this kind of behavior, to him, was infuriating beyond what he could explain: he felt mocked, belittled, even mortified. Who did he think he was to take away from him the right of righteously winning in a competition? What could have given Youngjo the impression that he would not have been able to have the best over him in a fair challenge? What kind of behavior of his could have led Youngjo to deem him inept to obtain a victory with his own strengths only? It was not too much to ask for. He never wanted to have an easy win, he wanted to earn it. His fiercely competitive nature made him wish he could have, for once, said he had rightfully defeated the emperor, instead all he got was a constant fiction to which he had to play along in order to not upset him. But then, when he started to grow up and to understand not only Youngjo, but all the dynamics inner to the Imperial court, on a deeper level, Geonhak realized that Youngjo was not letting him win because he had a poor consideration of his abilities: he did that, first and foremost, because of a form of respectful courtesy towards him. Being the future Emperor implied exerting a strict and constant control over his own temper and firm restraint of his wishes. Not only Youngjo never flaunted his achievements, but he also seemed to gain a lot more joy from celebrating Geonhak’s victories than his own, and Geonhak found it so endearing that he has never had the guts to tell him that he knew he was doing that on purpose all along. There is something precious in the way Youngjo smiles when he looks at him, after losing, and in the sparks in his eyes when he congratulates him, that Geonhak doesn’t want to risk losing by unveiling their little secret. Victory is not something he strives for per se. Victory is feeling the gentle touch of Youngjo’s hand patting on his shoulder, is admiring his kind smile, is listening to him giggling and mumbling nonsense about how _he has only won because he cheated_ , when both of them know that he is the one to lose on purpose. Victory is feeling the heartbeat of his friend vibrating lightly and fleetingly against his chest when they exchange a fugacious hug after competing. Victory is every single fragment of Youngjo he is able to capture and treasure forever in his mind where, like an artist, Geonhak paints pictures of all those expressions, all those gestures, all those moments of intimacy which he has the priceless privilege to witness, building in his memory his very own art gallery, where each piece is a unique, loving, soulful ode to the one, true, living masterpiece that is Youngjo.

Sometimes, he asks himself why does he feel so compelled to cherish so devotedly the slices of life he has spent with Youngjo so far: even if with time they will naturally have duties to attend to and their attentions will likely be needed elsewhere, it’s not like they are meant to part for good and never see each other again, but nonetheless there is a constant feeling, in the back of his mind, that torments him with unrelenting anguish when he thinks about the future. No matter how much he tries not to get hyper fixated on it, whenever he lets his psychological guards down, the fear of losing Youngjo comes back to viciously bite on his heart and rip it apart in strands of a sufferance so intense that even trying to speak about it is deafeningly painful.

Whenever he’s afraid, he runs to him, hoping that the day will come when he will be able to tell him how he feels, but when Youngjo and him are alone and he could finally express his worries, Geonhak can never find it in himself to tell the truth.

So, he hardens his heart and finds excuses.

He makes up stories.

He invents silly challenges, and all for the sake of holding on to those single, precious moments when he gets to be with Youngjo just like back when they were kids, with no guards or servants storming around them and trying to eavesdrop their conversations, no elders interrupting to take Youngjo away to listen boring councils over agriculture or tax percentages or insignificant reforms regarding the army, no fancy clothes fitting with pompous tailors whose dissertations over fabrics and seams and slings and hems are as thrilling as speaking to his deaf and blind great grandmother.

He does that and much more just to give Youngjo every day a brand new reason to smile, and no matter how much effort it takes or if he has to make a fool of himself (thing which, honestly, Geonhak hates), it is always worth it. 

In spite of his princely life, Geonhak knows how nowadays it is harder and harder for Youngjo to smile.

So he provides him the chance to, sometimes, escape his duties and forget who he is supposed to be, in favour of being just himself.

_Before he forgets._

_Before he forgets him..._

There’s a chill in the air and a stinging cold breeze lashes on Geonhak’s face with the violence of a thousand needles. His sight goes blurry and he cannot tell if it’s rain or tears, but he needs to hold his horse to dry his eyes and regain his composure. Youngjo is an excellent horseman, it won’t take him too long to close the distance between them and he has to make sure he doesn’t see.

He cannot see.

He cannot know.

What would he think if he saw him like that?

For sure, Geonhak is certain of that, Youngjo would be graceful enough to not pressure him to reveal his turmoil, but that is of very little comfort and convinces Geonhak even more that certain things are best to go unseen just as much as some questions are best to go unanswered. 

So, he brushes the palm of his hand on his face and bites his lips, right on time to put up a smile on his face: Youngjo’s frame is appearing from the fog.

“Your Majesty, I see you have decided to join us fashionably late, as per usual!” Geonhak shouts, while performing a curtsy at the best of his faculties from the top of his saddle.

“Geonhak, you son of a…”

“...Preceptor?” He suggests with a foxy grin.

“Not what I had in mind, but let’s save your parents’ honor this once.” Youngjo answers.

He is not mad, Geonhak can tell. Sure, he looks disheveled and slightly tired after such a wild ride, but there’s a smile on his lips that he knows way too well: even though Youngjo is by no means a sore loser, at the same time he is not one to disdain an attempt at turning the tables.

“Why did you want to come up here, anyway?” Geonhak asks, letting Youngjo catch his breath and offering him his handkerchief to dry the sweat dripping on his forehead.

“I wanted to go back to a meaningful place, since you seem to be in a nostalgic mood.” The prince answers, as he gets off of his horse and gently leads Nunji towards one of the trees, tying the reins loosely around its trunk, imitated by Geonhak right after. “Plus, I like the view.”

“The view? With this fog?” Geonhak remarks teasingly and giggles, but after a few seconds he cannot help but notice that Youngjo’s eyes are not pointed towards the landscape. The prince’s gaze, instead, lingers on his friend’s features insistently, yet gently, like an intangible caress fondling his cheek, brushing up along his lash line, indulging on his lips.

“Yes,” Youngjo answers, a sweet smile unsealing his lips “The view.”

Geonhak blushes and swiftly turns his face in the opposite direction, as he sits down on the wet grass, staring at the horizon. There are way too many thoughts crowding his mind and he doesn’t dare to believe in the thin, yet overpowering, possibility that Youngjo could have really intended what his heart desires to sense in those words.

“Do you remember the first time we came here? What were we, six? Seven?” Youngjo promptly changes the subject, determined to lead the conversation towards a brighter side.

“Of course I remember… We had never gotten into so much trouble before… I still remember the face of that old guard who was supposed to keep us under control… Wait, what was his name?” Geonhak laughs, shaking his head as he remembers that episode of their childhood.

“Ah, it’s right on the tip of my tongue… Park Inseong? Could it be?”

“Yes! Him! Do you remember how angry he was?” 

“He was livid… He kept on screaming and threatening that he would have told everything to my father...” Youngjo says, rolling his eyes as he recalls the obnoxious voice of that man echoing in his ears and his hand firmly dragging him from his gracile arm.

“ _Which he did_.” Geonhak points out, for the record.

“...And that he would have made sure that we would have been punished exemplarily.”

“... _Which we were_.”

“Well, I guess we can safely say he was a man of his word.” Youngjo sarcastically states, cackling.

“He was indeed, bless his soul.”

The two boys flop down next to each other, shoulders a breath away from brushing and heads gently embraced by the soft grass, while the dew and rain droplets soak their hair with their refreshing wetness.

Geonhak closes his eyes and deeply inhales the herbal smell of the meadow, before sighing and saying out loud the very words he wished would have never left his mouth.

“ _I miss you, Youngjo_.”

As soon as he hears those words, the prince rolls on his side and pins his elbow on the ground, while resting his cheek on the palm of his hand to better look at Geonhak’s face and dedicate him all the attention possible. He doesn’t need to ask the reason behind that phrase. He knows what he’s talking about, he feels like that too, every single day. He cannot count the amount of times during which he has wholeheartedly wished to leave the endless councils, the pointless convocations, the futile discussions that require his presence on the daily in order to run away with Geonhak from everything. Youngjo has to bite his lips as he seeks for an appropriate way to comfort him, to tell him how heartbroken he is, how gut wrenching leaving him feels, on what a deep level he feels like he feels, but eventually realizes that he has to choose: adequate or heartfelt, proper or true.

So Youngjo chooses.

Hesitantly, he lifts his hand and observes it for one more second as it is shaken, mid-air, by a feeble tremor, while he questions for one last time whether he is disposed to unconditionally accept the consequences of what he is about to do. 

Youngjo breathes and listens to the sound of his pounding heart while his hand delicately lands on top of Geonhak’s cheek, a shock of static prickling the tips of his fingers at the touch of his soft skin.

“I miss you too… Geonhakie…” The prince whispers, his lips ever so slightly quivering with fear and relief at the same time. “My sweetest one… My dearest darling… there is no moment I don’t miss you achingly.” Youngjo murmurs, indulging in Geonhak’s adoring eyes and understanding just how much he has always reciprocated his feelings, at last.

As soon as he hears those words, Geonhak turns towards Youngjo, appalled and confused, his heart beating so fast that he almost feels his ribcage being rattled under its relentless pressure and his lungs collapsing, as he keeps inhaling, but cannot breathe.

He cannot believe his ears, he cannot believe his eyes, and yet everything feels so utterly real that all the questions he has die down in his throat, while warm tears rise to the brim of his eyes and yet are promptly caught and brushed away by Youngjo’s hands, which delicately keep on caressing his face, with slow, loving strokes that quietly speak to his soul and soothe the turmoil that is unrelentingly agitating him.

That fragile, ephemeral moment is too precious to be spoiled with words.

Some questions are best left unasked and some words are best left unspoken, especially now that the two of them are so helplessly raptured in the enchantment of revelation, where there is more truth in the loving glimmer shining in their eyes and in the predestination of their hands perfectly intertwining than there could ever be in any vocal declaration.

One of the undeniably most important elements about growing up together with someone, after all, is the borderline magical mutual understanding that gets established throughout the years, and Geonhak and Youngjo make no exception to that. They are aware of that, just like, in spite of any possible ancestral fear, they always knew they couldn’t keep a secret from each other, let alone their emotions, for such powerful and untameable feelings cannot be subject to suppression or bear being ignored for longer than the heart concedes.

To love means to be shackled by the curse of truthfulness, since love itself, a feeling that receives its life in the darkness and intimacy of one’s soul, demands to be brought into the light, to be revealed and disclosed, in order to properly manifest itself into existence. Oddly enough, the easy part about love is loving. To act accordingly is where the true test of spirit lies.

Youngjo and Geonhak are aware that they have failed to do so way too many times in the past, scared about a ridiculously long list of possible issues.

It was always either the wrong time or the wrong place, actions felt too grand and words too cliché, until, eventually, neither of them ever said or did anything.

And now that they cannot escape each other, now that the both of them have to call themselves defeated by a love so overpowering, unrelenting and uncontrollable, all that’s left for them to do is to take that final leap into the illusory darkness of the unknown and unveil their feelings, with the fearlessness that takes over the hearts of those who have nothing left to lose.

Eventually, excruciatingly slowly, but nonetheless decisively, Youngjo gets closer to Geonhak and slowly leans towards him, irises glassy and trembling with emotion, seeking encouragement of any sort for his actions, a quiet consensus, a timid nod.

He does not dare to push himself any further, even though his lips are just a heartbeat away from closing the distance separating them from Geonhak’s, so he buys time, he paces, almost tempted by the idea of pulling away, rediscussing all of his life’s decisions and ultimately petrified by a raw terror. But before Youngjo can have any second guessing, Geonhak’s warm hand grasps around his neck and gently palms his skin, leading him down, his other arm instinctively wrapping itself around the prince’s waist to drag him on top of his body and leave no space between them, as he surges forward to meet him in a long time anticipated kiss.

“See, Your Majesty, what would you do without me?” Geonhak playfully teases, rubbing his nose against Youngjo’s and causing them both to burst in a soft choir of giggles.

“Oh well... I wouldn’t have anyone to purposely let win every single time.” Youngjo answers and immediately seeks for his lips, teasingly nibbling on them and sprinkling them with a thousand more kisses, one for every time he wished to sink in his lips but was too scared to get to action.

“Well,” Geonhak says, smirking as he holds him closer, “The way I see it, this could possibly be the very first tie of our lives.”

“Oof... Why does everything have to be a competition with you?” The prince asks, rolling his eyes, yet smiling brightly.

"Why not?" Geonhak retaliates, surging towards him and nibbling on his upper lip "Look where that got me!"

"On a wet meadow in a rainy day, getting all dirty and soaked?" Yungjo playfully teases him, but Geonhak tightly wraps his arms around him and pulls him down on his warm chest to kiss his forehead.

"No," He answers, under his breath, with an intimate and soft tone that sounds like a secret and tastes like love "It got me next to you. Exactly where I ever wished to be."

Then, their mouths meet again for another kiss.

And another.

And another.

A kiss that has the taste of their joyful laughters, of their longing gazes, of their dreamy sighs.

A kiss that holds in their slow, hesitant, wishful movements all the tension and the desire that both of them have never ceased to feel growing between them.

A kiss that bears the promise of never letting go, never forgetting, never taking for granted, never turning away from each other, no matter how much harder life is doomed to become.

A kiss that seals a lifetime long love, so sacred and pure that even being spoken about almost appears sacrilegious, trivial, profane, and that yet demands to be felt with all of themselves, to its extreme consequences, no matter if it will burn and consume them on the way.

A kiss that, for them, seals the closure of an era and that, inevitably, throws open the doors for a brand new one.

From the era of doubt to the era of certainty.

From the era of properness to the era of truth.

From the era of obedience to the era of rebelling.

From the era of fear to the era of love.

Until the end of time.


End file.
